The Last Grey Ship
by ErinRua
Summary: ﻿The voice of the Sea merely whispers, until the reasons to stay pass on. Aragorn's days are ending, and Gimli faces more farewells as Legolas looks to the West. How the story may have ended. Book-based. MITHRIL AWARD Commendation!
1. The Last Grey Ship: Chapter 1

_While I have endeavored to be as true to the Tolkien's original characters and creations as my imperfect knowledge allows, I cannot come within a long bowshot of Tolkien's artistry with legend and prose, so may this but be a poor tribute to the master._

**THE LAST GREY SHIP**

**A Tale of Many Partings**

**_Being a view of what may have transpired at the end of King Elessar's days._**

**_by_********_Erin_****__**

Sharp echoes of hoof beats battered the stone walls, as a grey horse hove near the gates of the White City.  Long-legged and powerful, the animal bore the proud, unmistakable lines of Rohan, for its master still held friends among those people of the North.  Though its limbs reached and flicked fast at a tempo held for many a mile, its smooth stride showed no weariness, nor was it troubled by its double burden.  Indeed the only weariness may have rested in the bones of him who rode pillion, yet he begrudged not the pace.  Urgency that had no name gripped both riders, unspoken save by the horse's master.  Even he could say no more than he had heard a beloved voice as from afar, but the words were unclear.  There remained only the unease that grew upon his mind, and so once more old comrades took to the long roads of Middle Earth.  Nor did any manning the gates to the lower circle of the city hinder them, for the travelers were long known here.

A startled Guardsman stood forth to greet their clattering approach, as they neared the garrison stables.  The face above the black and silver Tower livery was young, far too young to have known the dark days, but he had grown to manhood steeped in the mighty sagas of Minas Tirith and the great War.  Well over a century had passed since the Ring was consumed in the fires of Mount Doom, yet among the people some legends still walked.  Now the Guardsman's eyes widened as he recognized the faces of the riders, and in his shock he looked less soldier and more awe-struck boy.

"Master Legolas!" he exclaimed.  "Master Gimli!"

Quick boots scrambled on the pavement, as he seized a mounting block and set it in the open.  Slender hands drew rein there, and the rider bent a long arm to lend his passenger support to dismount.  Wide-eyed still, the young Guardsman's look wavered between reverence and breathless chagrin.

"I had no word - no one told me - forgive me, m'lords!"

"No word was sent," the rearmost said, as he pulled a leg stiffly over the horse's round haunches.  "We come by our own reckoning.  Although I will say that I am beginning to get too old for such unseemly hurry."

The heavy, grey-streaked ropes of his beard fairly bristled with this statement, and the Dwarf, for so he was, grunted heavily as both feet found the sturdy block.  Yet a quick hand swatted away the anxious concern of the Guardsman.

"Not that old, mind you!  Have a care for yourself."

"Come, Gimli," the other rider soothed, and his voice was as gently melodic as his companion's was gruff.  No mounting block needed he, as he lightly swung to earth.  "You grow cross as an old badger.  Perhaps a nice warm bath and a restful cup of sweet tea will ease you?"

"Warm bath.  Tea."  Gimli harrumphed mightily, although his eyes twinkled.  "I can still out-walk you, Master Elf.  On my _own two good legs, mind you."_

Though the Guardsman knew it not, such banter between these two friends was a habit so old that it no longer remembered itself.  Yet he took his cue from the small smile gracing the taller one's fair Elven face, and allowed himself his own muted chuckle.  His dutiful soldier's heart was soothed simply by realizing that he stood in no ill-favor, for being unprepared to receive such honored guests.

"Sirs," he said.  "I know not if rooms have been prepared for you, but I will care for your horse.  Shall I send someone to announce you?"

Laughter faded, then, the Dwarf's rough face growing long and Legolas's finer one suddenly solemn.

"No," he said quietly, and his eyes traveled up the narrow street.  "I think perhaps we are expected."

***

They walked as an unlikely pair, a lithe prince of Elves who remained changeless as the silver face of the Moon, and a gnarled Dwarf warrior grown rugged as the mountains in which his people delved.  Together their feet trod curved streets which had long ago grown familiar to them, and around them sculpted stone canyons glowed with the rose and lavender hues of evening, as if lit from some warm source deep within.  By the labors of its renewed people, the glory of Minas Tirith was evidenced now not merely in its towers or martial splendor, but in the voices of prosperity and song that echoed from every house and open way.  The marble paving underfoot was made perfect by the craftsmanship of Gimli's own people, as were stone pillars and walls planed smooth and white as the hearts of sea shells.  From balcony and bench spilled the gifts of Legolas' Elven folk, gardens and growing things that rejoiced in the sunlight.  In these waning days of February, little more than daffodils and crocuses thrust their green heads from the chilled dark earth, for high above the city Mount Mindolluin still bore the tattered white mantle of winter upon its craggy shoulders.  Yet the Vale of the Anduin River was a garden awaiting only the warm blessing of Spring.  Had they looked over their shoulders as they climbed, the visitors would have seen that the far fields of the Pelannor already blushed softly green.

 Instead, their thoughts bent now to the chief architect of this abundance and fortune.  For in the great Hall sat a wise King who had, for one hundred and twenty two years, ensured with firm compassion that all was aright and all was in order.  With him ruled the Lady Arwen, fairest of the fair and Queen among both Elves and Men, forsaking the immortal life of her own people for the greater bliss of her heart.  Nowadays their son, the image of his father in both likeness and spirit some said, more and more took the reins with that same steady hand.  The blood of Isildur was well-redeemed, and the people called themselves blessed.

Yet for once, neither visitor looked with joy to the proofs of their long-ago struggle, nor took pleasure in the bounty which that hard-won peace had wrought. 

"I like not such mystery," Gimli said as he trudged.  "But I trust your instincts as I do my own."

Legolas made no reply, for ahead of them stood a familiar gate, and through it walked a familiar figure.  Tall and grey-eyed, the planes of youth now sculpted to strong young manhood, the King's son saw their approach and paused.  Oddly his bearing seemed not surprised, but rather he appeared a man relieved to spy an overdue guest.

"Eldarion," Legolas called.  "_Mae govannen."_

"Well met, my friends."  The prince came swiftly to clasp each by the hand.  "He said you would come.  I know not how he saw this, but then Father's sight has always been long."  A smile bloomed on his face, a rare warmth of expression that favored his mother.  "Especially when it comes to you two."

"Is he unwell?" Gimli asked abruptly.  "I did not come all this way, bouncing about on the back of a horse like so much baggage, simply because my friend, here, has gazed at too much moonlight."

However, Gimli's brusqueness did not conceal the trueness of his heart from those who knew him, and the shadow suddenly upon Eldarion's countenance held other meaning.

"I dare not say.  He asks for you."  And his glance would not longer meet theirs.  "Come, I will take you to him."

Elf and Dwarf exchanged troubled glances, but they followed with no further word.  In a tower high above the city, bells struck the seventh hour of evening, and the sleepy streets murmured with folk faring their way to supper and home.  The street that the heir of King Elessar led them through, however, brought them to a quieter place.  A broad courtyard opened before them, paved in smooth white stone and ringing lightly with the constant silvery spatter of a fountain.  In its midst a green verge lay framed in stone curbs, like a captive carpet of eternal spring, and above both pool and grass spread the graceful limbs of a mighty Tree.  Even now, knowing this Tree from when it was but a tender sapling placed by the King's hand, they could not help but pause in reverence.  The White Tree of Gondor had been many things, but above all, it had always spoken of hope.

Blue shadows had begun to gather and chill, now, and to fill the valley below with their cool flood.  Behind the visitors, the sun burst its last glory behind the topmost spires of Mount Mindolluin, and saved its final flame for the distant peaks to the east.  Amid that softly-growing twilight sat a man alone, the fingers of one hand tracing patterns in the watery face of the pool.

"Aragorn," Legolas breathed, for his keen Elven eyes read much in that silent pose.  He strode past the prince on swift, silent feet, and noted not when Eldarion left them in private.

As the tall figure arose, Aragorn it proved to be.  Also Elessar, Elfstone, Lord of the Dúnedain, King of Gondor and Arnor, and other titles, but once he was simply Strider, a Ranger of the Wilds.  This was the man who greeted them now, grave and worn but kindly, unadorned by either circlet or sign of noble blood.  Time worked but slowly upon the sons of Númenor, chiseling more keenly the line of cheek and jaw, and deepening the frost in his dark hair.  The grey eyes smiling welcome were still bright as the first stars now winking overhead, and there remained a soldier's strength in the hand he laid upon Legolas' shoulder.

"A joy it is, to see you both," he said, and cast his smile upon Gimli now huffing to join them.  "Although prying a Dwarf from the warm fireside of his mountain halls must be akin to uprooting the mountain itself."

"Prying, indeed," Gimli grumped.  "I had just been saying that the weather favored a bit of a journey."

Legolas lifted a wry eyebrow, and Aragorn smiled.  Then he bent himself back to his place, and laid a hand to the polished stone beside him.

"Come, sit, for I see you have come far at great speed."

"My heart bid me hasten," Legolas said, as he sank to rest.  His eyes searched those of his friend, and he asked softly, "Tell me why I thought I heard your voice on the wind.  Did I dream in my waking hours?"

Gimli too shared Legolas' sober regard.  Kingly and strong Aragorn remained to their eyes, but now they also perceived a strange weariness in the set of his shoulders, and in the soft gaze he returned to them, and this awareness clutched suddenly with cold little hands.

"You did not dream.  It was but a wish, a thought of mine."  His smile crept forth as of old, warming them in its slow favor.  "I am glad you have come."

Clapping his hands to his knees, Gimli fixed him with a fierce stare.  "What needs done?  If there are necks to cleave, or rocks to heave, you need but command it!  My people work daintily in stone, these days, but they have not forgotten the arts of battle!"

With a gentle laugh, Aragorn raised one hand.  "Peace, old friend.  Since you have come, I have in mind another purpose."

Legolas touched light fingers to Aragorn's sleeve.  "You need only ask."

The former Ranger bent forward and their worried eyes followed as he arose, for in his movements there had briefly seemed an odd, almost brittle care.  Aragorn stood over them now, with the sky drawing a cloak of deepening blue above his head.  Amid its dark azure the first glitter of stars seemed to rest like tiny white gems in his hair.

"I ask no further duty of you, my friends.  Your service to me has been without flaw or reservation.  And your friendship -."  His glance touched upon them, and their hearts rose in their eyes.  "Has been among my chief treasures and counted often, as I have never counted coins.  I have held your hearts dearer than I do my own.  No, I release you from all duties, and all claims, save one."

He turned from them, then, shoes whispering upon the smooth paving as he paced a moment.  At last he turned to gaze quietly upwards into the silvered limbs of the Tree.  As it had grown, so had the fortunes of united Gondor and Arnor, together under Aragorn's greatest care.  For now the White Tree's swelling buds awaited the early days of June for blossom, yet even in its winter lethargy, Legolas felt its sweet grace like a soft breath upon his cheek.  He could sense its slow-seeping strength even through the stones beneath him, as if the sap rising sleepily from the roots hummed deep within the very earth.  And yet he felt other things moving than the quickening of spring, and he turned his eyes once more to Aragorn's tall silhouette.

"I am pleased it was Eldarion who brought you here," Aragorn said.  "I hope you will find time to speak a while with him, for he never tires of your presence."

Gimli nodded firmly.  "He is the son of kings, Aragorn.  An oak among Men!"

The brief gleam of a smile lit Aragorn's face.  "Yes, he is grown true and strong as either father or king could wish.  The people find great faith and comfort in him, as do I."  He stood and clasped his hands behind him.  "Legolas, have you heard more of Treebeard in recent seasons?"

"Nay, for I have not journeyed into his lands in some while.  But his wood remains as ever, I am told, green and fierce."

"That is well," he replied with a smile.

For a time their talk wandered as if they were but old friends exchanging news.  Often it seemed that Aragorn's thought reached to those whom they had not seen in many years, but there was deep pleasure in sharing of those things that bound their friendship.

"Do you look down the years?" he finally asked.  But his tone was of such slow musing that it begged no reply.  "What deeds we have shared, the three of us.  Long and often terrible were our labors, labors that seemed doomed to be consumed in Shadow.  And yet in all our parts we strove and failed not, and here the White Tree grows once more, and the only shadows are those cast by the smiling Sun.  Valor was found in the smallest of beings, and the greatest were not too mighty to fall.  Elf and Man, Dwarf and Shire-folk, this peace is a crown for them all."

Then he paused as his thoughts gazed far along the roads of the past.  "Even in our darkest hour, we somehow found light.  Some small, simple thing.  Hope.  And those who brought hope to us.  I wonder where beyond the world they all rest?  Do they look back to us, or hold some fond thought for us?"

"Some do," Legolas said gently.  "Beyond the Sea."

"Yes, the Sea."

A soft breath that may have been a sigh escaped him, and Aragorn fell silent a space.  The soft glow of hidden lanterns began to warm the City byways, as the mustering stars chilled the sky above, until Aragorn spoke again.

"And whither shall I go, beyond the circles of the world?"

In that instant, Legolas' breath caught fast in his throat and he dare not let his eyes stray.  For it seemed he beheld the King as a towering dark form crowned in stars, with all age fallen away from the clean, stern lines of his face, and all grey fled from hair as dark as in the days of his youth.  Almost Legolas reached to touch him, for in that same moment he saw the stars not above Elessar's kingly head, but seemingly through him, as if he were but a shadow cast upon a gauze curtain.

"I bid you only this," Aragorn said, and his voice whispered like the chill breeze brushing the grass.  "Find you peace.  If e're it has eluded you, seek it now.  Let your hearts be quiet, and let grief pass from you."

He turned, and was truly with them once more, stepping quietly closer.  To their surprise he then swept back his cloak and knelt carefully on the cool stones before them.  He reached to lay his hands upon the right arm of each, and twilight touched his face in silver and shone tiny points of light in his eyes.

"We come to the road's end, my friends.  Our journey together has done.  I shall embrace my peace.  Fail me not in seeking your own."

Gimli had no words, struggling past the emotion welling in his chest to clasp a gnarled hand tightly upon the forearm that gripped him.  Aragorn ruled not the realm of the Dwarves, but he had found a kingly seat in the hearts of all who counted him as friend.

For his part, Legolas could not speak words of the common tongue and his voice nearly failed him, even in the soft speech of the Sindarin folk.  Words of promise, a loving oath taken, and the hands of three friends were joined in one last, full-hearted moment.  As Aragorn arose once more, the whisper of his cloak fanned their faces.  He replied in but a single word, one he had never used with them, no matter their many roads and many partings.

"_Namarië."_

Then he passed from that place, and came not again to the courtyard of the White Tree.  The two friends he left there sat long in heart-struck silence.  They were too full with thought to speak again, ere nightfall wrapped the city in a sable cloak of stars.

***

_Continued in Part 2_


	2. The Last Grey Ship: Chapter 2

**THE LAST GREY SHIP**

**Part 2**

**_by_********_Erin_****__**

Dawn waxed cold and clear as it spilled upon the spires of Minas Tirith, and twin to the newborn day was the month of March.  Brilliant gold capped the frosty crown of Mindolluin, washing then to ruddy rose, and in the low fields lambs frolicked at play.  Yet within the city all hearts turned but one way, towards a humble westward gate in the wall of the sixth circle.  Seldom ever did that gate open, and sorrowful were the twisting ways beyond.  For there beneath the mountain's stony flank lay Rath Dínen, the Silent Street, and along it stood the mansions of the great dead of Gondor.  Kings and nobles, lords and princes slept here, and at last also rested the two gallant hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrine Took.  Here would pass Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the last of the great Kings of the Elder Days, and thence he should not return a living man.

In the house given them for lodgings, Legolas swept his grey cloak about his shoulders and laid a hand to the door.  Gimli, however, stood with his feet planted square on the floor, and did not move.

"Let the dead keep the dead," he announced.  "My heart holds remembrance of a living man, and I would keep it so."

"But he is not yet gone from us," Legolas said.  "There is still a little while."

"And what more is there for us?  Will you say farewell until there is no breath left to speak it?"  Gimli spoke as if in anger, but other emotions often mask themselves so, and his tone then gentled.  "There are those who love him more than even us, and to them this day belongs.  Here I shall wait, until the bells tell me he has gone."

Distress marked itself clearly on the Elf's smooth brow, but he saw the grievous truth in Gimli's words.  Slowly he sank down upon an open window ledge, and turned his face towards the quiet city beyond.  There they waited, in a silent room where a breeze brushed the window coverings aside and brought a moist promise of rain.  Anon the Sun hid her face behind a soft floss of cloud, and the mighty ribbon of the Anduin was slowly hidden behind the drawing of a misty veil.

As the morning waned the streets began to whisper with the soft tread of the people.  Neither to duty nor market did they come, but hither to the winding streets upon which their King had passed.  They gathered on its curbs and waited, although to what purpose most could not say.  The quiet assemblage grew and waited more, as the mist crept from the river and veiled from sight even Mindolluin's lofty, rugged crest.  At last Gimli arose and Legolas went with him, passing down into that shadowless white morning to join the hushed throngs lining the avenue.  Then from the towers spoke the peal of a single bell.  Its deep, iron resonance lingered and shivered among the shrouded stones ere the next slow strike came.  Even as a heart beats deepest, the bell struck, each toll shuddering into the silent bones of the city, and the very breath of the people was stilled.

Up from the Silent Street he came, he who would now be King.  As he walked he bore in his arms the winged white crown of Gondor and with it the ancient scepter of Arnor.  Like the wind comes up the river in a rushing of many leaves, so the mourning of Minas Tirith swept through her streets, until one thought that Eldarion drew sorrow with him as heavy train.  Many there were who wept unashamed, whether maid or man-at-arms, for few now living remembered a day when Elessar the King had not reigned, his influence as constant as the Sun and Stars.  The mist became a light rain which blessed the far fields, and also laved faces already made wet with lamenting.  Neither left nor right did Elessar's heir look, for the tokens he bore spoke beyond all words.  Two who watched found their message to be bitter as swords in the dark, and the stroke of it drove deeper than death.  As the prince passed, Gimli fell to his knees on the hard stones, and the storm of his anguish broke like thunders upon the high peaks.  For Legolas there was only silence, though the blade of his grief pierced so keenly that his hands sought, unbidden, as if for a hidden wound.

Thus ended Aragorn, son of Arathorn, last of the Númenoreans, having given up his life as was the gift of his kind, and so passing into mystery before the strength of manhood and kingship withered from his grasp.  Thus, too, ended a Fellowship which would be sung of even after their Age had died all away, and after legends had forgotten that living beings and not gods had done such deeds.

***

They lingered in the City, while things were done that necessity and custom declared for the passing of great kings.  There would be a new king crowned, in the due passing of days, and all matters of governing would be discussed at length, in chambers deep within the city.  The Lady Arwen would surely meet with ministers and counselors as well, as her son prepared himself for the throne.  Lords from all parts of the realm would soon come to pledge anew their fealty and obedience, and ambassadors from afar would bring tidings of their good will.  Meanwhile banners were flown and dirges played, and minstrels sang of the King's greatness.  To Legolas and Gimli, however, the songs almost spoke of a stranger, much removed from the man they had known.  For though he had been mighty in his rule and terrible in battle, so too he had been their beloved friend.

"I wish I could stop looking," Gimli said.

"Looking for what?"  Legolas asked, and then he caught himself on the razored edge of his own silent reply.  Just that morning he had paused at a certain turn of the street, and stood several heartbeats until he realized who it was he waited for.

All the city moved in one direction or another, in grieving and preparation at once.  Yet Gimli and Legolas found themselves standing with empty hands and soon felt very much forgotten.  Only they could not cast aside entirely the old loyalties of their hearts, and so they waited until a servant found them on the third day.

"The Lady awaits you," he said, and they followed.

He led them to the private halls of the family, and thence to chambers where not even they had trod before.  Here the servant tapped an oaken door, then opened it, bid them to enter, and slipped away.

Within the chamber a bank of candles glowed, and a long curtain drifted from an open window, spilling sunlight in a wavering pool upon the floor.  Near the window a slender figure sat, the rich fall of her dark hair washed in soft light and shadow.  Lady Arwen, wife of a great King, daughter of Elrond Lord of Rivendell, and yet never had she seemed so small and alone.  They drew near on hushed feet, for she did not turn to greet them.

She was aware of their presence, however, and said softly, "Forgive me that I have not turned my thoughts to you sooner."

"Nay, Lady," Legolas replied.  "Your cares are many, and the hospitality of your people has kept us well."

"Nonetheless, I have misused the blessing of your friendship."  She turned, then, and they were stilled by the fullness of her gaze upon them.  "Please, rest yourselves at ease."

They seated themselves on cushions at her bidding, but dared not speak, for the Lady Arwen was much changed.  Although her Elven beauty remained untouched by the passing of time, where once the brilliance of stars had shone in her eyes, there lay only lusterlessness, like water beneath ice that never knows the Sun.  Where once the silvered shimmer of twilight had clung about her as a fragrant mist, now only shadows filled the sweet curves of her face.

"I have news which may bring some small comfort for you," she said.  "Two of our most honored now rest beside the King.  It was his wish that Merry and Pippin, beloved among hobbits, should be moved to sleep there at his side."

"That is indeed well," Gimli said.  "An unsurpassed honor, and none more deserving."

A moment passed, and they saw her hands move upon a smallish, cloth-wrapped parcel in her lap.  Fragile those fingers seemed, as if turned from finest glass.  She directed her gaze once more to the window, but her sight passed far beyond them to some bleak, unfathomable distance.

"I took the cup of Lúthien knowing well, or so I thought, the draught I would drink.  But now I have come to the dregs at last, and they are bitter upon my tongue."  She sighed a frail breath that would have scarcely disturbed goose-down.  "I see neither Sun nor Moon, and all the stars have gone out."

"Gondor and Arnor still remain," Gimli said, although the words came like ill-fitting tools to his hands.  "Your son and daughters as well, and all who know you love you."

Her hands gently turned the wrapped thing she held.  "Then let them love my memory."

Now her fingers worked carefully in the silken folds, and light fell upon the object cradled therein like sunlight ablaze in new leaves.  A great green gem was revealed, set in the embrace of a silver eagle, wings outstretched, and for an instant they ceased breathing.

"Elessar," Legolas whispered, and so it was.

The great Elfstone itself, which Galadriel Queen of Elves had given to her daughter, and which passed thence to Arwen, her granddaughter.  Amid the dark days of Sauron's threat, it had been Arwen's request that Galadriel let the Elfstone pass to Aragorn, to light their hopes until all was fulfilled, or all was ashes.  None had seen it since except it was in Aragorn's possession, ever a potent symbol of his birthright.  Gimli found himself with a hand pressed to his bearded mouth, to stifle the cry pressing there.

"I know my beloved spoke to you," she said.  "And his wishes are bound to your heart."

Lightly her fingers traced the smooth, verdant face of the stone, a touch as delicate as if upon a lover's lips.  "Legolas Greenleaf, dear friend of my Lord and myself, I now ask only one kindness."

"Speak it," he said.

Then her gaze turned to him, deep with sadness so keen he was stricken dumb.

"Take this," she said. "Take it, and keep it with you."  Swiftly she touched the stone to her lips, then bent gently as a lily falling, and placed the precious thing in Legolas' startled hands.  "Bear it upon the grey ship that will carry you into the West, and let it be our remembrance there."

Gimli first found speech, saying, "Lady, it belongs to your children, your daughters, even as it was your mother's before you."

"Nay, dear Gimli, it does not," she said, and the sadness of all the ages lay upon her.  "It belongs to a world that has passed."

Legolas held the Elfstone as one who thinks to be burned, and in her eyes he saw at last the terrible distance yawning between them.  For him there remained the promise of all the Firstborn, the welcome of the Undying Lands and a ship to carry him, when at last the world weighed too heavily upon him.  Yet for her, who had lived years equal to countless lives of men before he was even born, there would be no ship.  By her heart's choice she was lost to her Elven people, lost beyond all hope of healing or reunion, in this world or beyond.  Though knowledge of her chosen doom had been with him long, its fruition came now unlooked-for, and he felt as if he teetered at the brink of a bottomless abyss.

Arwen arose in a silken whisper of skirts and slippers.  She turned away from the window, towards the candles glimmering across the room, and the light cast her face as if it were carved in alabaster stone, beautiful, but cold and without life left in it.

"Arwen Evenstar I have been, but now I must pass into Night.  Perhaps it shall be as my beloved said, that beyond the circles of the world is more than memory.  Blessed shall be the hour of my leaving."

"Leave?"  Gimli sputtered.  "Where are you going?"

"To Lothlorien," she said, and walked to gaze into the candles' glowing hearts.  "To Cerin Amroth, if I am permitted."

"But none live there now," Legolas protested, as both he and Gimli stood.  "Even Celeborn has passed on to Imladris, and the Golden Wood is silent these many seasons."

Her head bowed in candlelight, briefly crowning her in softest gold.  "Nonetheless, hither I shall go."

"Very well," said Gimli.  "When do we leave?"

"I go alone, dear Gimli."

"Alone!"  Gimli's eyes nearly started from his head.  "Lady, you cannot!  The season is still early, the road is long and treacherous, and a Queen does not simply -."

"I can, and I shall."  She turned swiftly, ere their further objections found voice.  "Contest me not in this, if you bear me any least love."

Then her manner softened and she drifted near, gazing upon them kindly.  The fingers of one hand she lightly touched upon Legolas' shoulder, and she looked deeply into the eyes of her husband's friend, her kinsman, he who would be last of all her people from whom she parted.  In the Elven tongue she spoke, and that as softly as the current lifting the curtains nearby.

"Wilt thou remember us, Legolas Thranduilion, on the blessed shores of Tol Eressëa?"

Cupping the precious token in his hands, Legolas found his reply, though it came with great pain from the cracking of his heart.

"There I shall sing of thee, Lady Undómiel, and of Elessar who was King, so that none shall forget so long as the world remains."

"Then I thank thee, and call thee blesséd."

For Gimli she had only the touch of her hand upon his bowed head, as it were in benediction.  Then she went from that room silently as frost flees the sun, and passed thence forever from their sight.

***

There were few who noted the doings of one Dwarf and a single Elf, in a city brim-full with both mourning and making kings.  Only one Guardsman vaguely remembered seeing Legolas walking the lower road near the gate.  So Gimli followed.  Passing from the city he trudged between the sleeping hedges and down a rutted lane, until at last he struck a path that swept up and through a small glade.  There he turned aside, and followed the dim track upwards, until ash and beech raised their smooth boles and barren limbs to spread their thin lattice-work overhead.  His steps were muted by the thick litter of moist grey leaves, as Spring had yet to raise the sap from drowsy roots.

After a time the brown, leafy path curved up one last slope, and the trees fell away, revealing a precipice that overlooked the mighty breast of the Anduin River.  There a broad shoulder of stone stood forth high above the flood, a doorsill opening upon a vast sweep of space and misty distance.  Out upon its brow rested a solitary person, Legolas, alone with the River and his thoughts.  He sat with his knees drawn close, and as Gimli came near, he saw also the curved ends of Legolas' bow, which was held against his chest.  Galadriel's bow, gifted in that other time during the darkening of the world, yet the cunning of Elven craftsmanship was such that it remained strong and swift, needing only ordinary care and the occasional new string.

Even at this height, the chill, moist breath of the River exhaled upon their faces, and the muffled rush of its voice teased their ears.  Gimli stood silently for a time, looking outward across the bare-bristled tops of sleeping trees and on to the far, sun-dappled fields.  Below them the Anduin shone like a broad band of silver, ere it curved from sight and away.  A thin cry reached him, piercing and sad, and he saw white gulls beating inland above the water.  Finally Legolas spoke, although without turning his head.

"We are all that's left, Gimli."

Gimli was not sure if Elves wept as others did, shedding tears that burned and tasted bitterly of salt on the lips.  But the anguish written on his friend's fair face was clear as if an arrow stood forth from his chest.

"It would seem so," Gimli replied, and memory rushed upon him like a spill of heavy books.

Frodo the Ring Bearer had sought his peace and healing lo, these many decades past, and with him had gone Gandalf, their great counselor and friend.   In the fullness of his days faithful Samwise, too, had sailed into the West.  Elrond and Galadriel had long years since left their lands in the keeping of others, and even Celeborn had at last abandoned Lothlorien, to spend his waning days with the sons of Elrond in Rivendell.  Gallant Éomer of Rohan had joined his forefathers over half a century ago.  Merry and Pippin had found their final honor here in Gondor, resting at last among sleeping kings.  Now the greatest of these had lain himself to sleep, and his beloved queen would flee into solitary exile, and the world was grown ever so much larger and full of echoes.  Suddenly the roster of goodbyes weighed like a great stone upon his shoulders.  Gimli bent his knees and sat heavily.

Whither Legolas' silent musings flew was an enigma, for they seemed to have little more direction than a flight of sparrows.  His next words caught Gimli by surprise.

"Do you still carry the lady's favor, Lock-bearer?"

"I do."  Gimli swatted his chest a solid blow, where truly was kept a golden tress of the Lady Galadriel's hair.  "Next to my heart, along with the memory of her beauty, shining like white gems cast into a silver sky."

A smile turned the corners of Legolas' mouth, and the blush crept warmly into Gimli's cheeks.  Even now remembrance of Lothlorien's Lady of the Wood had the power to move him, and to make him feel delightfully foolish upon recognizing it.

Then he let his hand drop, and sighed.  Below them in the empty space of the River's airs, the gulls keened thinly once more.  Legolas grew very still listening.  A chill touched Gimli that had naught to do with the cool sun of early March.  Nor was he warmed, when his friend spoke again.

"I was watching the river, when you came.  This very rock we sit upon has stood since the breaking of the world, and all the while the Anduin flows to the Sea.  Does the river grieve for what passes and does not come back?  For neither I nor this stone can slow the ages, nor turn them aside.  We can only endure, as all passes beyond us.  Even the stones shall change, while the doom of the Elves is to continue.  And now I am heir to even more sadness, for I must carry the Elfstone as proof that all the things we wrought are done, and with Men alone lies dominion of the world."

Alas, the art of the Dwarves lay in the skill of their hands, not their words, and so Gimli remained unhappily silent.  The mercurial moods of Elves were often beyond his grasping, anyhow, and he only hoped that, as in other times, this melancholy would also pass.  And in truth, Legolas again looked over his shoulder, and sunlight touched his eyes.

"You at least are my comfort, Gimli.  If stone endures, so always has your stout heart."

"And my good sense.  It is that damp and chilly, here, and I am hungry.  Come with me back to the city, and we'll roust a fat cook from his laziness."

Legolas stirred, but then settled, and Gimli sighed.  One did not slow an Elf when he was hasty, nor rush him when he was listless, and oft it was a trial to wait for either temper to pass.

"We'll leave tomorrow, I should think," Gimli said.  "It's too late to begin travel today."

"Yes," Legolas answered.

The gulls cried once more, and his attention swept outward, seeking their flight.  Bright and keen his eyes were, but whatever they saw was beyond the vision of Dwarves, and his profile fixed unerringly whence the River faded to westward.  Disliking this mood upon his friend, Gimli sought to distract him with trifles.

"An early start, mind you.  The days have been entirely too burdensome, and there is much I should attend to at home.  Tonight, I wish a good meal, a good cup, and a good rest."

"I, too, wish rest," Legolas replied.  "But I fear I shall not find it."

Then he sighed, ere his glance sought his friend once more.  "Tomorrow's dawn, then," Legolas said.  "I shall see you safely to your halls, and then I will see my own folk in Ithilien."

Still he sat, and Gimli was patient, and at least the infernal gulls had flown themselves off somewhere out of sight or hearing.

"I am weary, Gimli," Legolas said suddenly.  "Weary with partings and farewells, until it seems the very world dies around me."

Towards the West he still faced, and his hands flexed upon Galadriel's bow.  There the Anduin vanished in the land and the land vanished into haze, and beyond even Elven-sight rumbled the ceaseless billows of the Sea. 

"I think," he said.  "That I shall make but one last journey."

And Gimli knew, though it broke his heart as a frost shatters stone, that they faced one more farewell, and that the most grievous of all.  But better this, Gimli's loyalty whispered, than to ask this dearest of comrades to linger until he stood over another grave.  As Aragorn had asked, each must seek his own way to peace.

"Then we shall go together," he declared stoutly.  "At least as far as the shore.  I have never seen the Sea.  I am told the waves break upon the very bones of the earth, and the oldest stones stand bare to see.  Even the broken lands from the ancient battles of Melkor and the Valar, they say, lie thrust up from the floor of the deep waters.  It will be something to tell the younger ones, when I get back."

Glancing sidelong at Legolas' pensive face, he added, "That is, if you wish company on the road."

"I wish your company," said Legolas softly.  "On all roads."

Of a sudden he stood, unfolding from passiveness to full height in a flowing move that made Gimli's knees ache to watch.  There seemed nothing to warrant this action, and indeed Legolas then closed his eyes for a long moment.  Warily Gimli looked for gulls, but saw none.

Glancing up again, he now saw Legolas' eyes were open and his face abruptly set in fierce lines.  A quick hand dipped for an arrow, and as swiftly he pressed the bow to full draw.  Mouth tight, he held his aim on some point in infinity.  Then with a snapping whir the arrow fled.  It lifted in flight far out over the bare trees below, arcing slowly down and spiraling smaller until it was lost to any but perhaps Elven eyes.  For an instant Legolas held his position in follow-through, then let the great bow sag in his hand.

Quietly he said, "I have loosed my last arrow on these shores."

_Continued in Part 3_


	3. The Last Grey Ship: Chapter 3

**THE LAST GREY SHIP**

**Part 3**

**_by_********_Erin_****__**

Sorrow rose then like a mighty tide within, but Gimli bowed his head though it choked him, and spoke not.  He could not ask what selfishness might demand, for his love for this oldest friend was greater even than his love for himself.  Legolas would sail into the West, and that right soon, and Gimli would remain to attend his own days and his own people, until even the long lives of Dwarven-kind ended and he, too, must die as all mortal things of Middle Earth.

"_Ai, Gimli, I have so loved the world," Legolas cried.  "If I looked now upon the fullness of Spring, when the forests were singing and friends awaited me in the greenwood, I should be torn to my very depths.  But Elessar is gone and his Lady is lost, and I fear that I will never know Spring again."_

Courage Gimli found, and he spoke.  "Do they not have Spring, in the Blessed Realm?"

"Spring, and summer, and never the frost of winter," Legolas replied, and bowed his head.  "Neither withered leaf nor faded bloom, nor partings ever more."

"Then when shall you sail?"

"Soon," Legolas whispered, lifting his gaze to Westward once more.  "Before the grief of the world drowns me."

"Well, then."  Gimli braced his hands on the stone, and heaved himself to his feet, for he had wearied of craning his neck to look up at an already-tall Elf.  "It seems you have some packing to do.  Come, my stomach wants proper attention, and we have a long road tomorrow."

"Gimli."

The Dwarf turned, and with all compassion and an aching heart he met and held his friend's sorrowful gaze.  Legolas shifted his hands upon Galadriel's bow, ere he spoke.

"Gimli, I cannot - how shall I part from you?"

"Best to do it sooner, when I can appreciate the sentiment.  It would do me precious little favor if you spoke only to the slab marking my tomb."

Yet it seemed the strange turns of Elvish thought were again at work, and the distress of it was plain on Legolas' face.  "If you could see the Lady Galadriel . . . if you could return to her the gift she gave, would you do it?"

"Would I?"  Gimli cried, and then scowled sternly.  "Do not offer what is not yours to give, Master Elf."

"Not mine," Legolas replied.  "But perhaps from the Lady who once granted you the favor of her affections."

"You speak in riddles, my friend.  Be plain, for my belly grows impatient."

"I speak of ships, Gimli.  A grey ship I shall build at Ithilien and sail down this great water, until at last I will gaze upon the wide breast of the Sea!"  A fey excitement seemed to have seized him, and Legolas spoke in a hurried rush.  "The Straight Road will be clear to me, Gimli.  There need be no fear of either shipwreck or upset, nor shall we be lost, for there is but one route to sail."

Confusion now tumbled Gimli's poor wit entirely, and he squinted up at his friend.  "You have gone from riddles to prattling, Legolas.  Pray make sense, before you lose me in the wilderness of your words, never mind the Sea."

"Gimli, come with me."

There were no gulls.  No wind.  Just the hushed rumble of the Anduin far below.

"Come with you."

"Yes!"

"No Dwarf will ever set foot on those shores."  The absurdity of the thought for that instant overrode even the upset of separation.  "No Dwarf, if he has any sense, will even set foot on a ship!  Your little cockleshell would be dashed to the bottom of the deep ere we lost sight of land, if I were in it!  You speak foolishness."

"Nay, Gimli, I do not."  Legolas abruptly dropped to one knee, his bow clasped tight, and his eyes grew bright as sword points.  "You of all Dwarves are named Elf-friend, and you are the last of the great Fellowship in this realm.  The tales of your deeds bring you honor such as no Dwarf has known.  You were beloved friend of Elessar the King.  You are favored of the Lady Galadriel, which not even Durin could have imagined.  I will plead for you there, Gimli, even to Manwë himself, if I must.  I and Galadriel and Mithrandir, and all in that place who know your worth.  The Lady has no small power, or Elrond either, and I shall add all the strength that is in my heart -."

Then Legolas caught himself, and his tone gentled as he damped his fervor to a lower flame.  "Gimli, I see I thrust a great quandary upon you, and you cannot answer now.  But do not refuse now, either, I beseech you."

There was frank pleading in Legolas' expression, even as he tried to lessen the weight of his request.  However, the great wish of his heart would not be quenched.

"At least give the thought a little time, to see if it grows on you.  It would be a reward of peace, for all your great labors in this world."

Gimli _humphed a heavy breath and faced outwards towards the river and distant fields, arms crossed._

"The Lady Galadriel has forgotten she ever knew such a poor creature as I."

"The Lady holds you in her thought, as always you hold a lock of her hair."

"I have no legs for boats."

Legolas stood, watching him carefully.  "Then you may sit down."

"I will be seasick."

"Nay, you shall not."

"I will be swallowed up in a great wave and eaten by sea serpents."

"Not if you stay in the boat."

Gimli remained with his face turned to the broad sweep of lands below, and it was Legolas' turn to be patient.  Nor do the thoughts of Dwarves turn often in haste, unless great ire is aroused, for their works are most in stone, which defies hurry and rashness.  Yet though Gimli's hands loved most the work he gave them, whether in building or in war, and though he filled his days and years with the unceasing efforts thereof, and neither took a wife nor foster son, there remained one constant.  Through all times and all deeds, there remained one most unlikely friend.  An Elven prince from the far forests of Mirkwood who, if nothing else, had taught him to love sun and starlight as much as the riches of the deep mountains.  He had loved even as Legolas had loved, mourning friends and Fellowship as each passed from them, and yet withal he was richer for it.  Now he had been offered one last gift, uncertain and perilous though it may be.

"How long will it take, to build this overdone ferry of yours?"

"I suppose that, by the time all things are in order, the moon will have come 'round its full turning."

"Hmm," Gimli rumbled.

Legolas waited and Gimli thought, and at last he spoke.

"Last night the moon was new.  When the moon is half-grown, come, and I will give you my answer."

"I will come," said Legolas, and his face lit with joy.  "I will come, and you will hear me singing before your warriors at the gates open their eyes to see me!"

"I have not said yes," Gimli warned.

But Legolas saw the smile lurking in his beard, and laughed.  "Nor have you said no, and until you do, all nays may become yeas, and all cannots become coulds."

"And pigs may sprout wings and soar away over the rooftops," Gimli grumbled, and turned his feet towards the downward path.  "Have I ever mentioned that Elves regularly make very little sense?"

"Frequently," Legolas answered as he followed.  "And have I ever mentioned the stiff necks of Dwarves?"

"At every chance."

The slender boles of the wood gently closed about their fading voices, until once more the deep hush of the River breathed the only sound.  In the White City a new King would be crowned, and on the yet-ungreen roads to the north, a Queen would slip away as silently as a doe in the forest.  Beginnings and endings converged, much like new green shoots curled from the rotting, blackened leaves of winter.  In each there was both peril and promise.

Yet when the rains of early April came to the Vale of the Anduin, among the mists that clung to the River's breast a clever eye might have seen a single grey ship sailing.  A more prudent mind might have reasonably argued that it was merely a trick of the fog drifting from the dripping trees.  But to the green paths of the forest never again came Legolas Greenleaf, and the mountain halls of the Dwarves saw Gimli, son of Gloin, nevermore.

Out where the great Sea thundered on the bones of the world the Sun burst forth in glory, and joyously cast aside the rags of spent clouds.  Then beyond and to the western rim of the world, the deepening blue glittered as if sown with white gems.  One gem, perhaps, winked brilliant green, and bore with it a single sail.

~~ FINIS ~~

***

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE_**:  To all who have so kindly read my story, and emailed me or left your reviews - thank you.  Your generosity warms my heart, and I am humbled by your consideration.  And to all who read in silence, know that you are no less appreciated, for each of you gives my poor thoughts a new sky in which to fly.  It's nice to know I'm not alone in wishing the story did not end!  Blessings to you all!!   ~ _Erin___


	4. Author's Notes

_AUTHOR'S NOTES:_

_This story is a first for me.  Never before have I felt moved to write anything built upon another's written work, and certainly I would have thought the audacity of tampering with Tolkien's masterpiece as beyond me.  Yet one day whilst driving, I got this image in my head of Legolas sitting high above the __Anduin__River__, grieving in silence.  Then he and Gimli began a conversation in my head.  And then they had other conversations and pretty soon the story that had got in my head would not be gotten out ... until I wrote this._

_Please note that it is entirely my own plot-device that Legolas carried the Elfstone of Galadriel to the Blessed Realm with him.  Such an incident is not any part of Tolkien's histories of Middle Earth.  I have in fact found no mention of the stone's fate after Aragorn's death, and so I took this liberty._

_Actually, the Lady Arwen simply told me that was what happened . . ._

_Last but not least, I know there is some debate amongst fan fiction writers as to the merits of reader reviews, whether those cheery bursts of "I liked that!" are as valuable as more scholarly and in-depth critiques.  Whatever.  For myself, it simply a joy to hear from those who share my love for Tolkien's Middle Earth, and to know that for a brief space of time we shared an adventure of imagination together.  To all of you, thank you for walking my road with me._

Courteous comments welcome to:

Erin   wuzreb@hotmail.com


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